The Dying of the Light
by PuffofLogic
Summary: The Doctor takes a trip to visit a young boy alone in a cathedral in 1941. Oneshot that takes place directly after the Lazarus Experiment Read, Review and Enjoy! :D


The lonesome form of a young boy could be seen huddled in the poor light of the enormous cathedral where he took shelter from the hellish nightmare his world had become.

The noises muffled now, the bomb detonations only subdued booms and the wailing air raid warnings nothing more than muted whistles. The old walls and intricate carvings of his haven forced a silence, making the air seem to pound on his ears. The walls did not keep out the February cold, however, and the boy shivered pulling his tattered jacket closer around him.

Suddenly an explosion shattered the silence and rocked the dust from the vaulted ceiling. The boy fell forward, off balance, and with his hands tucked away in his jacket not able to catch himself, tumbled to the cold floor in a heap.

As the echoes faded, he slowly picked himself up, tears making clean streaks across his dirty cheeks. He sniffed, the sound magnified by the open area.

_There's no way,_ _it was so close, too close. The next bomb…the next bomb will destroy this place. I'm going to die. _

The thought was so profound and so absolutely _true_ that it rocked the boy more then the explosion had. A choked sob made its way out of his throat, and the thought repeated itself in his mind, forcing him to hear it. _I'm going to die. I'm going to die._ The pounding in his ears increased. "I'm going to die."

"Nah, we can't have that now!"

The boy turned and stood up clumsily, one sleeve furiously wiping tears away. A man stood in the aisle, a thermos in one hand and a blanket draped over the opposite shoulder.

"Here we are," the man began, practically hopping up the couple steps to where the boy stood, "a nice cuppa tea. And," he pulled the blanket off his shoulder, "a wool blanket. Itchy, I'll admit, but warm."

The boy stared a moment, then pulled himself together. "Pardon me, sir, but who are you? Where did you come from? You couldn't have been out there." The boy pointed to the closed doors, his fears swept aside, at least for the moment.

"Why not?" The man looked genuinely confused. Another muted explosion sounded from outside, and a flash of understanding came across his face. "Oh, right, right, that." He sat down on a step and focused on pouring out the tea, offering no other explanation.

The boy sat down next to him, his confusion evident, "But who are you?"

The man looked up, "Hmm? Oh, well, names aren't all that important are they?" He finished pouring a cup and handed it too the child next to him. "Now, what was your name?"

The boy took the cup, incredulous, "You just said names weren't important!"

"Did I?"

He waited for more, but the man was obviously still waiting for him, "Richard Lazarus, but everyone calls me Ricky."

The man grinned, "I knew a Ricky once." His head tilted, his gaze focused on a far wall. "Well, I say knew, I mean know. And I say Ricky…" he trailed off, the sadness in his eyes hinted to more then just a distracted nature.

"Sir?" Richard said, hesitant to disturb him.

"Hmm?" the man seemed to wake up. "Right," He clapped his hands and rubbed them together before slapping his knees simultaneously and standing up. "Well Ricky, enjoy your tea, keep the blanket and…don't give up." His eyes sparkled as he shook his head, "Never give up. Yeah?" He grinned crookedly again and began to make his way to the doors.

"You're not from here are you, sir?" Ricky questioned, standing up.

The man paused and turned slowly on his heel, a smile again stretching the corners of his mouth. "You are a clever one, Ricky Lazarus," he said, pointing to the boy. "Should've guessed, me. What makes you say that?"

"Well," he began hesitantly, "you smiled. Folks about here don't do that anymore."

"Sure they do," the man scoffed, rolling his head back. "Everyone smiles! If no one smiles, you might as well give up hope!"

Richard fumbled to make him understand, "Of course they smile, but…they don't mean it. Not now, not with all this." He gestured around, obviously meaning more then the cathedral surrounding him.

The smile faded from the man's face. He always forgot how bad it was during this time. How hopeless it seemed.

He sighed, and walked toward the boy once more, "That's what you can do then, Ricky Lazarus. Smile. Just smile and mean it. You can give someone hope. And maybe that's all they need, just a little hope." The man grinned again, as if demonstrating and turned away.

The boy looked around himself once, at the cathedral, the engravings of saints, and cherubs, then at his tea and the blanket now wrapped securely over his shoulders. A thought stuck him suddenly.

"Sir?" The boy called again.

"What now?" the man turned back to him with exaggerated motions, the twinkle in his eyes saying he didn't mind.

"Are you an angel?"

The question was so innocent, so immediate, so needing to be answered; that the man stopped dead, the smirk frozen with disbelief upon his face. A moment passed and his mouth dropped open, "A-am I _what_?" The query came out not angry, or assuming, neither sad nor happy, it was pure unabashed incredulity.

"An angel." The response came quickly, the boy not reacting to the emotion of the man in front of him.

The man suddenly looked terribly old and horridly sad, the change startled Richard and he took a step back unknowingly.

"Ricky, I'm not going to lie to you, if there is _one thing_ that I am profoundly _not,_ it is an angel." The startled look on the boy's face begged an explanation. The man's head sagged with weariness and guilt, "I have done things I'm not proud of, things I wish I could undo..." He raised his head to look the child in the eyes, "But know this Ricky Lazarus; I _will_ help when I can. And this time, I could help. This time, I did the right thing and _that _is how life goes on."

He began to walk away a final time, but Ricky stopped him once more. "Sir?"

The man turned his head, his eyes filled with sadness, a hopelessness Richard had seen too often in the past couple months. Everyone walked around with that look in their eyes, a helplessness in the face of death, he couldn't bare it, not on this man's face. "Thanks for the tea."

A grin once again lit the man's face like a ray of light streaming through a window, lighting a basement that had been dark for too long. "And thank you Ricky Lazarus, thank you so much."

Without another word, the man was gone, leaving the lonely boy once more in the dark with the bombs exploding and the warnings wailing, alone with his fears that the man had warded off so surely.

Ricky's feeling of death was gone, so erased by the man's presence it was as if it had never been. The man had gone back into the nightmare, the bombs, the wailing, the destruction and the death. He must have been fearless to so knowingly endanger himself, that man did not fear death.

Ricky thought back to the time, only moments ago, when he had knelt down, bowing before his own mortality, and he shuddered. _Don't give up. Never give up. _That's what the man had said. Right then, the boy vowed never to give in to death again, never let it win.

He sipped at his tea, waiting for the light of dawn to come.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The Doctor leaned against the panels of the TARDIS. He sighed, breathing in the bitter air, hoping to clear his head. The talk with Lazarus had opened up far too many wounds. First of Mickey leading swiftly to thoughts of Rose, then onward all his own shortcomings, his mistakes, all the things he wished he could forget.

He let his eyes close as he tried to block the images swirling around his mind. He clapped his hands to his face, covering his eyes. Letting his palms slid down his face he took a deep breath, turned and inserted the key into the door of his ship. A bomb fell in the distance and he paused, resting his forehead on the warm wood of the door.

A pulse of heat went through the wood and a reassuring vibration followed. The Doctor allowed himself a small smile as he pulled open the door and walked through.

As the TARDIS wheezed out of existence, a barrage balloon came loose not to far off and a nineteen year old blond wearing a union jack across her shirt was jerked from a rooftop to hang panicked beneath it, floating through the London skies.

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Disclaimer: Don't own it, wish I did, doesn't everyone

This is my first Doctor Who fic with dialog, and me being from the States, it would be great to hear if I did all right. I hate the stories that over-do the Britishness of their speech, I hope I didn't. 2nd Doctor Who fic, 3rd posted. Reviews would make my day. :D


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